Crash
by susieq666
Summary: This started as a one-shot, but seems to need a Part 2. News comes in of a plane crash. A plane that Horatio may or may not be on. As they try to get news, the team learns that waiting is the hardest part.
1. The Longest Day

CRASH

PART 1 - THE LONGEST DAY

"Do you know Horatio's plans?"

"Not really." Eric looked up, surprised by Calleigh's demanding tone. "I think he was flying down to San Francisco for a couple of days, before coming back here."

"Today?"

"I don't know, Cal! He doesn't tell me his vacation plans. He'll call if he wants picking up. Why?"

"You'd better come and look at this…"

He followed her. He'd noticed her worried face, the odd tone of voice. In the break room, the TV was on, several people watching…

_News is coming in of the crash of a Virgin America Airbus, in the mountains north of San Francisco…_

"Just a co-incidence." Eric murmured. "I don't even know if he was travelling today."

_Rescuers have yet to reach the crash site but a helicopter has located it…_

The pictures were indistinct but graphic. The plane appeared to have hit the mountains hard, and burst into flames. Bits of flaming wreckage were scattered over a large area. The only recognisable part was the tail section, which seemed to have broken off. It lay some distance from the main wreckage.

"My God… No one could have survived that…" Calleigh said. "Call him, Eric, please…"

Eric nodded and speed-dialled his boss. "No answer. That doesn't mean anything."

"It does with Horatio. He never turns his cell off."

"He might be on a plane. _A different _plane. Or out of range. He's on holiday, for God's sake – he might turn it off for a while."

"We have to find out," Calleigh said. "Please…"

"They'll issue a phone number…"

"Not for hours! They said rescuers haven't even got there. We need to know. I need to know."

Eric thought for a moment. "All right. Let's see if they'll release the passenger list."

He found numbers for Virgin, for San Francisco International, for anyone he thought might be useful. Predictably, every line was engaged. After twenty minutes, he sighed. "Can't get through, Calleigh."

"What if it was a law enforcement matter? Who would we go to?"

"Only the airline… I wonder if PD has any other numbers?" He called Frank, and explained their concerns. "We're probably worrying about nothing… Thanks, Frank." He scribbled down a number.

"Who's that?" Calleigh asked.

"Still Virgin, but an ex-directory number. Someone Frank knows. Sort of emergencies only."

"Well, it is, isn't it?"

After a bit of argument, a lot of flexing of legal muscle, and some half-truths, he finally got through to someone at Virgin America who had access to the passenger list of the downed plane. And who was – reluctantly – able to give him an answer…

"Yes, it's a police matter. Horatio Caine. Was he on that plane?" He waited, fully expecting a negative answer. "I see. Thank you. I understand." He sat down, his legs suddenly weak. He looked up at Calleigh, cleared his throat before he could talk, then murmured, "He's on their list."

"Oh, dear God." Calleigh sat down too. After a long silence, she muttered, "He might have survived. The tail section…"

"He always travels Business."

"I know. Oh, I know! Oh please, let them be wrong… Let him have missed the flight…"

"Passenger lists aren't one hundred per cent. They should be, but they're not. You know that."

"You're clutching at straws. What can we do? We should go there…"

"Cal, there's no point," Eric said gently. "It'll be chaos. You won't get near the crash site. We'd do better to get news from here. Look, it might not be that bad – we've only seen grainy shots from a helicopter… There was lots of smoke… I _know_ I'm clutching at straws! What am I supposed to do? Assume he's dead?"

* * *

Horatio Caine was alive. At least, he thought he was. He couldn't feel anything, or hear anything. Couldn't arrange his thoughts enough to work out what had happened. He felt as if his whole body and brain had been stunned. He wondered if he had experienced some medical catastrophe. A stroke or a heart attack… Very gradually, some sensation crept back. He was cold. He could feel something trickling down his leg, and thought he must have peed himself. Gingerly, almost dreading it, he opened his eyes. He couldn't work out what he was looking at – torn metal, with bright light shining through gaps. His hearing was returning – someone sobbing, a child crying… He closed his eyes, struggling for consciousness.

His memory returned quite suddenly. The plane… He was flying to San Francisco… He'd made a big fuss checking in because they'd screwed up his booking. So the plane had crashed… That, he couldn't remember at all. He thought he had been asleep.

He opened his eyes again and tried to move. He didn't seem to be trapped, but he was impeded by wreckage. He tried to lever himself up. A violent pain in his left shoulder made him cry out and brought a wave of nausea.

He lay back, becoming conscious of the pain in his bruised body – stomach, chest… But he could breathe, so it wasn't that bad… He used his good right hand to feel downwards. His pants felt dry. He was illogically relieved that he hadn't wet himself. Felt further down. Encountered torn fabric. And wetness. Blood… But he could move his toes. He seemed to have lost his shoes. He could feel the softness of carpet beneath his feet.

He tried to work out what was stopping him getting up, apart from his own weakness. He thought it was an aircraft seat, pushed back in the crash, partly resting on him. He braced himself again, and using his right arm only, pushed hard. The obstruction moved slightly, but released a cloud of dust and debris, sending him into a violent spasm of coughing. His head hurt unbearably. He felt his senses receding again. And fainted.

* * *

"I can't just sit here," Calleigh said.

"I know." Eric put an arm round her. He had tried ringing his boss's cell numerous times, but had now given up. "There'll be news soon."

"If we went to the airport…"

"It's a six hour flight to San Francisco… That's six hours without news."

"Look – different pictures…"

_Rescuers are being landed at the site by helicopter. The site is impossible to reach by road. _

The television showed two big Search and Rescue helicopters, hovering low over the site, while winching out what looked like military personnel, carrying red medical bags.

"Makes sense," Eric murmured. "They're used to this stuff. And the helicopters are huge."

"It looks really bad though."

The pictures were still indistinct – clearly from a news helicopter that was probably being kept at a distance.

_The Airbus is reported to have been carrying one hundred and sixteen passengers and crew. Communication was lost at eleven-oh-four, local time. It is believed there was a mayday call, but we have no further information at the present time. Pictures show that most of the airframe disintegrated on impact, although the tail section appears intact._

"We _know_ all that…" Eric muttered. "What about survivors?"

"If there are any…" Calleigh turned as Frank Tripp came up behind them.

"Did you get an answer?" the detective asked.

"Yes. But not the right one…"

"Good God – he was on _that_?"

"So the passenger list says."

"It might not be accurate – that guy I gave you – he's not front line."

"That's what I said," Eric added. "Calleigh thinks that's clutching at straws. I can't get him on his cell. And he always travels Business Class. Which means at the front. Frank… You know… he's probably dead…"

"Let's prove it first, Delko." Frank's tone was harsh.

Calleigh got up suddenly and rushed out of the room. Frank took her seat, as they stared at the TV pictures.

* * *

Horatio came to as someone shook his shoulder, his injured shoulder. The pain brought him round quickly.

He gasped. "Don't touch that shoulder!"

"I'm sorry."

He recognised one of the young stewards who had served him a drink earlier. "It's okay. Just… I think it's dislocated."

"Where else are you hurt?"

"I'm not. Just can't get out… Can you give me a hand?"

"Er… yes… Just a minute."

"What?"

"There's a passenger on the seat in front."

"Take your time. I'm all right here." No wonder he couldn't move the seat.

"He's dead." The young man sounded shaken and uncertain. "I've been… leaving dead people where they are…"

"I understand. What's your name?"

"Rob."

"Listen, Rob. Just lift him onto the floor. He won't mind." He spoke gently. Not many people were as used to death as he was.

He felt the weight on his lap lessen, and was able to push the obstruction away. He accepted Rob's hand to help him to his feet. He staggered, feeling sick and dizzy.

"You're bleeding. Your leg…"

He glanced down. His right lower leg was soaked in blood. He moved the torn pant leg to reveal the gash, which ran from knee to ankle. "It's nothing much. It's not an artery or anything."

"Can you walk?"

He nodded and they made their way outside. Horatio stopped, amazed. Rob had set up a temporary casualty station. Half a dozen dazed and bloodied people sat or lay on the ground, swathed in rough bandages and airline blankets. A woman – a passenger, with a bloody bandage round her head – was tending them.

"You did this?"

"Yes. I've been getting them out, but it's slow."

"I'll help you."

"When I've bandaged that leg."

"It'll do for now. How did you get out in one piece?"

"I was in the rear galley. It seemed to survive more or less intact."

"Just you?"

The young man nodded, and silently pointed up the slope. Then Horatio saw the burning wreckage, some five hundred yards away. Between it and where he was, the ground was strewn with debris – luggage, personal belongings… and what Horatio recognised as body parts. It took him a few moments to catch his breath. "My God…"

"I haven't been up there… I should, I suppose…" The man sounded close to tears. "Someone might have got out."

_I don't think so._ "Rob, you can only do so much. There are people alive in there?" He indicated the tail section.

"A few more, I think."

"Come on then. My leg can wait." Fighting off his weakness, and trying to ignore the fact that his shoulder was agony, and his bare feet were getting cut, he escorted Rob back into the wrecked plane.

"I hope I haven't missed anyone…"

"Tell you what, I'll go ahead of you and pick out the live ones." He tucked his left hand into his shirt, to give his shoulder some support.

"You sound as if you know what you're doing." The young man sounded grateful. "Are you a doctor?"

"Unfortunately, no. Policeman."

Between them, they extracted eight more passengers, most of whom seemed to have nothing worse than broken bones and cuts, although Horatio knew that some might be more seriously hurt than they appeared. They left two, who seemed to have back injuries, in situ.

"That's all we can do," Horatio said, staring round the ruined cabin.

"The rest are dead?"

"Afraid so. Come on, let's go and do some bandaging…"

He left Rob, and the woman passenger, attending to the fourteen survivors they had retrieved, and walked towards the wreckage of the front of the plane. He tried not to look too closely at what was on the ground, but he did find an open suitcase and took a pair of shoes that fit reasonably well, murmuring 'Thank you' to the unknown owner. He felt guilty, but knew he had to do it, before he crippled himself completely.

He heard a helicopter and looked up. A small one – news team, probably – but at least they'd been found. He waved, but doubted they could see him through the drifting smoke.

He walked as near to the plane as he dared, the heat scorching him, even at some distance. Then he shouted. Nothing. He broke down, coughing on the smoke. Then shouted again. Still nothing. At least, nothing human. The burning airframe creaked and crackled. He was beginning to shake, despite the heat. He recognised the onset of shock. He needed to get back. Do something useful, to ward it off.

He stood still for a minute, gently feeling his tortured shoulder. Definitely dislocated, but maybe broken. It hurt like hell. A wave of dizziness made him stagger. He could feel his heart racing. He began to walk slowly back towards the tail section, but knew he wasn't going to get there. He sat down on a rock, and stared at the ground. He realised he'd pushed his luck – pain, loss of blood, and shock… and now he couldn't move. Unsure whether he was going to vomit or faint, he tried to get to his feet… and passed out.

* * *

They had at last posted a phone number, 'for information'. Eric leapt on it. At first he couldn't get through, then, when he did, found there _was_ no information.

"There are rescuers on site, Sir," he was told. "As soon as we get names, we'll release them."

Calleigh came back in. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Frank went to stand up, but she shook her head. "I can't sit still…"

_We have been asked to clear the area, to allow rescue helicopters free access. We will leave the information number on screen, and will bring you an update in our one o'clock bulletin._

"No!" Eric shouted, as the screen changed to trailers for the evening's viewing.

"There's nothing to see," Frank said reasonably. "Just keep trying the number. Look, I'm going back to work. I need to be doing something. Let me know the minute you hear anything. Or if I can do anything."

Calleigh went to put the coffee machine on. "What can we do?"

"Nothing." Eric went and put his arms round her. "This is the hardest thing… Just waiting… If we just knew… Either way…"

"Eric, he can't be dead. Not Horatio… It would be so unfair. He's such a good man. And he's in danger every day here. The one time he takes a vacation…"

"I know, Cal, I know…" He released her and went to pour some coffee. He glanced at his watch.

"What?"

"I'm going to call that number every ten minutes."

He did so. For forty minutes there was no news at all. Then there was news of a few survivors. No Horatio Caine.

The one o'clock news bulletin came on, and they turned back to the television. The same pictures…

_An Airbus carrying one hundred and sixteen people has crashed and burst into flames north of the city. The site, inaccessible by road, has been reached by rescue personnel, and survivors are being evacuated by helicopter…_

"'Survivors'," Calleigh murmured.

_Early reports are that eighteen people – seventeen passengers and one crew member – have been recovered from the tail section. Injuries range from 'serious' to 'walking wounded'. They are being flown to the California Pacific Medical Center. The rescue crews are now turning their attention to the front section of the plane. The information number now has the names of the survivors recovered so far…_

"They hadn't five minutes ago," Eric muttered.

"Eighteen people… out of a hundred-plus…"

"So far."

* * *

Horatio came to on the ground. He was wrapped in a scratchy blanket, and Rob was leaning over him.

"You okay?"

He forced a weak smile. "Think so. How long was I out?" He tried to sit up, wincing.

"About five minutes. You lie still. Reckon you lost too much blood."

He felt his leg, and encountered a bandage. He realised his left arm was strapped across his chest. "Your doing?"

"Least I could do. We're being rescued…"

Horatio became aware of the roar of big helicopters.

"They're triaging. I said possibly the two still in the plane. Then you."

"That's hardly necessary. Help me up." With Rob's help, he walked back to the other passengers, and sank down, his head lowered to his knees.

Within minutes he was approached by an army paramedic. "I hear you've been quite a hero."

"Hardly. I was just helping Rob. If anyone's a hero, it's him." Horatio raised his head, and tried to focus his vision. He was shivering. "Just helping out…"

"Can I take your name?"

"Horatio Caine. Lieutenant."

"Military?"

"Police. Miami. I'm on vacation."

"Bad luck. We need to get you into the helo. Ever been winched before?"

"No."

"We'll strap you to a stretcher…"

"Is that necessary?" Horatio protested automatically.

"Unless you think you can keep a strop round you with that shoulder."

"Maybe not. Okay. Go for it." He didn't think he was among the urgent cases, but he felt so ill he stopped arguing. "Sorry… I've got to lie down…"

The man helped him, and pulled the blanket round him. "We won't be long. You leave it to us now. We'll take care of you."

Horatio would later confess that he remembered almost nothing after that. He was only vaguely conscious of being winched into the noisy helicopter, of distant voices murmuring something about 'shock' and 'blood pressure', of extra blankets being put over him, and of ear muffs being put on, which reduced his world to near-silence. A faint residual part of him wanted to fight, to deny the fact that he no longer seemed capable of functioning… but his body simply failed to respond.

* * *

Eric called the information line. Predictably, the news bulletin had prompted a flurry of calls, and the lines remained engaged for a good five minutes.

"I can't bear this," Calleigh muttered, almost to herself.

"We'll know soon," Eric replied, privately wondering if he really wanted the answer. _In a few minutes_, he thought, _I'll know that my friend, my brother, is gone_.

He hoped it had been quick. If he had to die, then let him have gone in one blinding flash, knowing nothing about it. He fought back thoughts of him being trapped, burning…

"What are you thinking?" Calleigh asked softly.

"You don't want to know." He repeatedly pressed 'redial' as he spoke.

It seemed Calleigh read his thoughts. "It would have been quick…"

"We don't know that."

"We have to believe it. Anyway, we don't know anything yet. As Frank said, let's prove it first."

At that moment, the information line answered.

"Yes… Horatio Caine. My brother…" A little lie. "Really? You're sure? Absolutely certain?" He felt Calleigh catch his arm. "How badly hurt? Okay, I understand. Thank you! Oh, thank you!"

"They've got him?"

Eric couldn't stop the grin spreading over his face. "He's among the injured. Being flown to hospital at this moment. That's all they know. Oh Calleigh…"

They put their arms round each other and wept with relief.

"They _are_ sure?" Calleigh snuffled.

"It's an unusual name. I doubt there're two of them."

"What now?"

"I suppose we're waiting on the hospital… Cal, go and tell Frank… I'll tell the rest of the team."

For a while, the elation of actually locating him overcame any thoughts of his possible condition. At last, when everybody had calmed down, Calleigh's thoughts returned to the crash.

"How badly hurt do you think he is?"

"I couldn't possibly guess, Cal," Eric said. "I don't believe anyone could get out of a crash like that unscathed. Try the hospital…"

Although she got through, there was no news. But they gave her a separate number – for relatives - to call later.

"They said it'll be a couple of hours," she said. "They sound pretty organized. Mind you, they're probably expecting more than eighteen casualties."

"There may _be_ more. Calleigh…" He hesitated. "I'm going to fly to San Francisco."

He saw a variety of expressions cross his co-worker's face. Mainly, he thought, that she wanted to go herself.

"He might not be hurt. You might miss him."

"Unlikely. He'll at least be in overnight. We can't both go…"

"I know." She sighed. "Sorry, silly reaction. I want to see him too, but he's your brother-in-law. I know how you care about him. And someone has to run the lab."

"I have to go. Anyway, do you think he's going to be able to get straight back on a plane to come home? We may have to drive. Look, put me down for vacation or unpaid leave, whatever you want, but I'm going to stay with him until I can bring him home."

"Eric, Eric, I'm not arguing." She touched his arm. "You go and pack some things. I'll book you a flight." She looked at him quizzically. "Don't _you_ mind getting on a plane?"

"Safest time. There won't be two crashes in one day. Do you mind booking me a hotel too? I need to do a few things…"

* * *

Horatio, drifting somewhere between semi-consciousness and sleep, became aware of a gentle accented voice.

"Lieutenant?"

It was almost too difficult to open his eyes, but he managed. The light seemed too bright, and he closed them again, though he registered a kind Asian face.

"Call me… Horatio…"

"Horatio – an unusual name. How are you feeling?"

"I don't know… My head aches."

"Can you open your eyes again – I've dimmed the light…"

He did so, and found the subdued lighting bearable. He even forced a faint smile.

"I'm Doctor Nayir. I want to tell you what's going to happen. Your shoulder's badly dislocated, and very swollen, so we're going to put you under general anesthetic to sort it out. Your leg and feet need some attention. We're going to give you an X-ray and a scan to see if there's any more damage. You also have a lot of bruising and a serious concussion – as would anyone whose body has gone from a hundred miles an hour to zero like that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you want to ask me anything? Or to call anyone?"

"I don't think so." He thought he ought to let the lab know, but he couldn't concentrate enough to work out the number, or even what time it was in Miami. Or here.

"We'll look after you, Horatio. Do you want some pain relief? No? Then I just need you to rest. Sleep, if you can… We'll fetch you in about an hour."

TBC

* * *

_**My apologies to Virgin America and Airbus Industries, both of which have impeccable safety records.**_


	2. Going Home

CRASH

PART 2 – GOING HOME

"I'm here to see Horatio Caine." Eric had taken a late evening flight and checked into a hotel in the early hours. He had managed a few hours' sleep before going to the hospital.

"Are you a relative, Sir?"

"Brother-in-law." He was ready to make a fight of it, but thought he'd better not say 'brother'. No one would believe the red-headed former New Yorker and the olive-skinned Cuban were related by blood.

The nurse handed him a form. "Do you think you could get this filled in for us? We only collected the bare minimum yesterday. It's just patient details."

"See what I can do."

A doctor came up to him. "Did you say Horatio Caine? I'll take you to him…"

"How is he?"

"Not bad, considering he's just survived a plane crash. Dislocated shoulder, broken collar bone, cuts and bruises… Concussion, but no sign of brain injury. He had a good night's sleep." He indicated a door. "He's lightly sedated, so you may find him a bit woozy."

Eric went quietly into the room. Horatio lay with his eyes closed. Eric was mildly shocked at his boss's pallor, but, apart from his left arm being strapped across his chest, he didn't look too bad. He supposed other injuries were hidden by the bed sheet. He went over and sat down.

Horatio opened his eyes. His surprise was obvious. "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing. You know," Eric joked. "How are you?"

"Glad to see you. I was going to call you today… but I've got no cell, no money, nothing…"

"We'll sort all that out. Oh H… You don't know what we went through yesterday…"

"I could probably rival it," Horatio murmured wryly.

"Yes, of course you could. Sorry. Do you hurt? The doctor told me about your injuries…"

"They're nothing much. They want to keep an eye on the concussion, otherwise I'd be thinking about getting out. Although… I've got no clothes either."

"I'll see about that too."

"I'm so glad you're here. I just felt completely… isolated. Silly really, but… strange city, no one I knew… and everything gone…" He sounded heart-wrenchingly unsure of himself, and Eric thought there was a faint tremor in the voice.

"Everything except your life," Eric said softly, putting a hand lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "We got news of the crash… We didn't even know if you were on that plane…"

"How did you find out?"

"Threw our weight around a bit and got the passenger list. Then…" He hesitated. "Well… I know you always travel in Business… and…" He stopped, wondering if he should even be discussing it with Horatio.

"You thought I was dead."

"Yes. What were you doing at the back of the plane?"

Horatio chuckled. "Pure luck. They messed up my booking, and Business was full. I was offered a later flight. I wish to God I'd taken it." His expression became serious. "Did they find any more survivors?"

"Three, I believe, but one died."

"Did it… catch on fire immediately?"

"I don't know, H. I don't think they know yet."

"NTSB wants to talk to me, well, to all of us, this afternoon. Not that I know anything… I think I was asleep."

"No emergency called?"

"No. I'd have heard. I don't sleep deeply on planes. But one of the stewards survived. He'll know if anything happened." He winced slightly, and rubbed his shoulder.

"You in pain?"

"Not really. Just uncomfortable. I'm okay."

Eric nodded. "I've got a form to fill in for you…" He took out a pen. "Height… six foot? Weight… what do you weigh?"

"I haven't the faintest."

"I'll make it up. Operations? Allergies?"

It didn't take long, with some answers from Horatio, and a little creativity from Eric. "Just put 'none' to everything else," Horatio murmured. "No one's going to check."

Eric put the form to one side. "So what do you need? Everything, I suppose…"

"Can I use your cell? I need to call the bank. I'll see if they can transfer some money to you."

"You don't need. You can pay me back later."

"And I need to tell them my credit cards are missing…"

Eric took out his cell phone and handed it to his boss. "Do you fancy calling Calleigh? She's desperate to hear you're all right…"

"I could do that. Give me your bank details first…"

Eric had to smile at Horatio taking charge. He was fairly sure he should be resting, but knew the man well enough to recognise that he wouldn't relax without sorting out his life a little. A little normality might even be good for him.

"I'll leave you to it for five minutes. Do you want a coffee?"

"A _proper_ coffee… Not from the machine."

"You got it."

* * *

It took Eric ten minutes to find a decent coffee shop. When he came back, he was struck again by how pale and exhausted his boss looked.

"You look so tired…" he murmured.

"I am. As soon as I do anything, or try to concentrate, my head swims."

"Well, you're sedated, and concussed. Not surprising. Did you speak to Calleigh?"

Horatio smiled. "I think I gave her the fright of her life. She was expecting you." He added ruefully. "She burst into tears."

Eric chuckled. "So she was happy to hear you then. Here… coffee… Can you sit up a bit?"

"There'll be a thousand in your bank account within the hour…"

Eric nodded. No use arguing. Anyway, he could be paying for plane tickets or car rental soon. They sat in silence, sipping the coffee.

"So what do you want? Some clothes – casual, I presume."

"Just jeans and a sweatshirt or something. And underwear – I've got absolutely nothing. I need shoes, but it could be a problem."

"Why?"

"My feet are a bit of a mess." He pulled the bed sheets away to reveal the damage.

"Wow – they said some cuts and bruises…" Eric looked at the bandaged right leg and the dressings on both feet. "How much damage under there? I mean, can you walk?"

"'Course I can. I've got a gash on my leg that had to be stitched – got that in the crash. But I lost my shoes somewhere, so my feet got a bit cut about."

"Have you _tried_ walking?" Eric said doubtfully.

"With help. As far as the bathroom. It's sore but manageable."

"Well, if I get you some trainers or something, say, half a size too big…"

"That'll do. And a new cell phone. Toiletries. Anything else you think of. And a bit of cash – I hate not having anything. Keep track of what you're spending."

"Will do."

"Do," Horatio said firmly. "It'll all be part of an insurance claim…"

There was a brief knock and a nurse came in. "Mr Caine! What's the use of sedation, if you're going to fill up on caffeine?"

Eric grinned. "My fault, sorry."

Horatio said innocently, "I _live_ on coffee… I was missing it."

"All right, but not too much. Can I just check you?" She took his temperature, checked his pulse. "How's your head?"

Horatio gave a sort of one-shouldered shrug. "Aching a bit."

"You know coffee won't help. Do you need pain relief?"

"No, I'm okay."

"And I'm just going," Eric added. "So you can sleep."

The nurse went out, shaking her head.

"I _am_ going. I'll go and do some shopping for you. I'll be back this evening. Get some rest." He turned to go, trying to ignore the sudden bleakness in the blue eyes.

* * *

Eric spent the day shopping. Not something he particularly enjoyed, but he was glad enough to be doing something for his injured boss. An astute CSI, he found he had unconsciously stored all sorts of detail – like Horatio's shoe size, the style of underwear he preferred, what sort of wallet he used. He felt vaguely disconcerted that he knew so much, but put it down to his job, which inevitably meant an eye for detail.

Over a late lunch, he phoned Calleigh. "How you doing?"

"Well, I've got over the shock…"

Eric laughed. "Horatio, huh?"

"It was your phone… And then his voice…"

"How did he sound to you?"

"Far too perky for someone who's lived through a plane crash. Was he putting it on? Is he badly hurt?"

"Not too badly." He repeated details of Horatio's injuries. "But I think he's much more shaken than he says. 'Perky' he is not."

"That's understandable. Take care of him, Eric."

"Would I do anything else? I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I know. Okay?"

It was late afternoon when he headed back to the hospital. Horatio was awake. Eric noted he still had that strange, rather lost, look about him.

"Hi, boss, how is it?"

"Okay, I suppose. I'm so stiff… I feel as if I ran into a brick wall."

"That's not surprising. Have you been out of bed yet?"

"Briefly." There was a weak smile. "Not good."

"Give it time."

"Yeah…" He seemed to pull himself together. "Don't listen to me. You know how I hate being out of action. Have you spent all my money?"

"Not quite." He noticed a basket of fruit on the locker. "Have you got an admirer?"

"From the airline."

"Hardly compensation. Still, it's a nice thought, I suppose." Eric leant over and pulled off a few grapes. "Want some?"

Horatio shook his head, and winced. Then he reached over and picked up a small folder. "And this…"

Eric read the contents. "Wow… free First Class travel…"

"They're obviously keen to keep their customers. Still, we'll be comfortable going home."

It was as good a moment as any to ask… "You happy to fly again?" He expected an indignant affirmative.

Horatio hesitated. "I think so. Logically, of course, it isn't going to happen again. How I'll be once I get on board…"

"Give it a few days and see how you feel. We could always drive."

"It would take ages."

Eric shrugged. "So? Long road trip… I don't mind driving."

"No. I've got to be able to get on a plane when I need to. It's like getting back on the horse – got to do it."

"Don't decide now. You're still pretty sick."

"I'm not sick. Just a bit knocked about. So what did you buy?"

Eric laid out his purchases, and Horatio nodded his approval.

"Is it okay?" Eric was anxious. Their tastes were hardly the same.

"Of course. Thank you." He hesitated. "Sunglasses?"

"Damn, I forgot!" Eric picked up the new cell phone. "I've put a few numbers on it… though I don't think our contact lists overlap much. But the lab's on there, me and Calleigh… PD's direct number - if you want to speak to Frank…"

"You're good to me."

"I know." Eric packed the few clothes he had bought into a small holdall, everything except the phone and wallet. "I've put fifty dollars cash in here. Is that enough?"

At Horatio's nod, he put the items into the locker.

"What else can I do for you? More coffee?"

"Better not. The nurse was right. It gave me a splitting headache." He pulled a face. "Eric, make me stop moaning! It all could have been so much worse."

"Moan if you want to. If it makes you feel better…"

"It doesn't. You know, I got off very lightly? I don't remember the crash at all, so I won't be having flashbacks or anything. Do you remember that Japanese air crash, where they knew for about an hour – everyone had time to write letters to their loved ones…? Thank God it wasn't like that."

Realising Horatio wanted to talk about it, Eric prompted him. "You don't remember anything then?"

"No. I was asleep. Next I knew, I came to in a wrecked aircraft. After that, it's a bit more vivid. Dead bodies… Body parts… Although, I suppose I'm probably more used to gruesome sights than most people. Sadly. Masses of luggage on the ground, spread over about five hundred yards… I suppose the hold must have burst open."

"What do they do with all that?"

"No idea. Collect it up, return it if they can, I suppose."

"So you might get your stuff back."

"I might. There's not much worth worrying about. A few favorites… leather jacket, my good camera… But nothing that can't be replaced really. The photos _in_ the camera, of course." He looked suddenly at Eric. "I had a photo in my wallet…"

"Of your wedding day. I know." Eric hesitated. "I've got a pic of my sister on my cell. Do you want me to put it on yours?"

"Would you?"

Eric watched the desolate look fill his eyes again and wondered whether memories of his brief marriage, or the plane crash were causing it. He tried to break the mood. "I was told you helped rescue people."

"Helped. A bit, I suppose. It was Rob – the flight attendant - who did most. I couldn't stay conscious."

"No?"

"I was okay for a while, but I passed out… I think I lost a bit more blood than I realised."

"Do you remember being rescued?"

"Vaguely. I wasn't really compos mentis after that." Horatio sighed. "Nothing much till this morning.

At that moment, a nurse came in with a tray. "Dinner, Horatio. And don't give me the 'I'm not hungry' routine."

"It smells good," Eric said. "What is it?"

"Chicken in a tarragon sauce. Baby potatoes. String beans. And apple pie. Would you like some?"

"Is that allowed?"

"Not really, but we can bend the rules…"

"Then yes, please. Put it on his account," Eric said.

They ate dinner together. If Horatio wasn't hungry, he managed to hide it well.

"You know," Eric said, with his mouth full, "I don't remember hospital food being this good."

"Nor me. I suspect it's the airline pulling the strings again. It's a pity it takes a plane crash to produce first class service."

"That might not be true. I looked this place up on the web – it's got a great reputation."

"Hell, you've reminded me, I know what else I've lost! My laptop. It was in the overhead locker."

Eric said nothing. The nurse came back to clear the trays. She eyed the empty plates with approval, and smiled at Eric. "You're obviously good for him."

He sat with his brother-in-law for another hour or so. Horatio had fallen silent, and seemed to doze. It was nearly ten before Eric left for his hotel.

He pocketed an apple and an orange from the basket. "Back tomorrow. Hope you feel better…"

* * *

Eric spent a long time next day, searching for suitable sunglasses. He arrived at the hospital to find his boss sitting on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt, reading a newspaper. He was barefoot, with only a few dressings on the soles. He looked up with a smile.

Eric returned it. "You look better."

"I feel it. Not so dizzy. I can read without feeling sick. Oh, and I managed a shower this morning."

"Without help?" Eric raised his eyebrows.

"More or less. They had to cover my leg… And I needed a bit of help to wash my hair." Eric would swear he blushed slightly. "And to get dressed."

"Nice nurse?"

"Very."

Eric chuckled. "Trust you. Bet you feel better for it."

"Too right." He indicated the newspaper. "They've got the plane's black boxes… but they're fire damaged, so they haven't opened them yet."

"So no idea of cause yet."

"Speculation… pilot error and/or freak weather phenomenon… Twenty survivors… and two of them are critical." He sounded very matter-of-fact, not nearly as shaky as the previous day.

"When are you getting out?"

"Tomorrow, we think."

"What do you want to do? Stay in San Francisco for a few days? Shall I book you a hotel room?"

Horatio looked up. "I want to go home…"

Eric nodded. "You want to go tomorrow?"

"I do. Sorry. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is. If you're up for it. Want me to arrange things?"

"No, I've got a special number to call."

"Okay. Let me know where I need to be and when. Here – I brought you a coffee…"

Eric spent the day at the hospital. He was amazed at the change in his boss. He seemed to be almost his old self, and much more alert. They experimented with the shoes Eric had bought. Coupled with thick sports socks, they were a good fit, and cushioned his damaged feet. Horatio tried a few steps. It was obviously painful, but he could certainly walk.

"The doc's not keen on this," he murmured. "He thinks I'll open up the cuts. But if I do, I do."

"Is he happy about you going home?"

"He doesn't get a choice," Horatio said mildly. "But yes, he says I'll be all right. I need to go to my own doctor to check my shoulder, and leg. I'm supposed to 'take it easy' for a week or two."

Eric laughed. "He doesn't know you, does he?"

"We'll see. I can hardly turn up at work like this, can I?"

"Shall we go outside – it's a beautiful day? And there's a wonderful view of the Golden Gate…"

"Don't know how far I can walk."

"I'll find a wheelchair." He noted his boss's expression, and added quickly. "Don't argue. You might as well be comfortable."

* * *

The two men travelled in near silence to the airport the following afternoon. Eric's single enquiry – 'How do you feel?' – was met with a fierce response of 'Fine'. So fierce, he didn't ask again. He was apprehensive. He knew Horatio was tough, mentally as well as physically. He was, nevertheless, going to board a plane within days of being in a serious plane crash. If he went into meltdown… Eric acknowledged to himself that it was unlikely. But Horatio's silence, and short-temper, spoke of his nervousness.

They were met at the airport by a stunningly attractive flight attendant, a brunette, nearly as tall, in her heels, as Horatio; standing out from the crowd in Virgin's scarlet uniform. She introduced herself as Lynda ('with a 'y'') and ushered them - well, ushered Horatio, Eric following – past check-in, past security, past the boarding gate, and onto the waiting plane. There, they were shown into the First Class cabin.

"Anything you want, gentlemen, just ask. We're on time. We should be taking off in about twenty minutes."

"I could get used to this," Eric murmured, sinking into the comfortable seat. "I've never flown First."

"Neither have I," Horatio admitted. "It's so expensive. Doesn't seem worth it for internal flights, and costs too much on long-haul."

They heard the thud of the door closing and the plane started to move, first backed off the stand by a tug, then taxiing under its own power. Eric glanced at Horatio.

"Don't keep watching me." Horatio had his eyes closed, so Eric had no idea how he knew.

"Sorry."

"I'm okay, you know."

"Good."

The plane waited at the end of the runway for a few minutes, its engines a low-pitched rumble. Then it began its take-off run. It was something Eric enjoyed; the increase in speed, the enormous power pushing him into the seat, then the nose lifting, and the reduction in noise as the wheels left the tarmac. He loved it, but he couldn't help glancing at Horatio again.

His eyes were open now. He looked at Eric and smiled. "Here we go…"

The seat-belt light went off and Horatio unbuckled and reclined the seat, reclined it almost to horizontal. He closed his eyes again.

Before long, they were served dinner and drinks, then, as they flew east, it grew dark outside, and the lights were dimmed. Taking advantage of the luxurious seats, they both dozed. Eric thought he'd been forever spoiled and would never want to travel in Economy again.

It was so comfortable, the flight went by quickly. He was surprised when the lights came up and he heard the engine note change. He pulled the seat more upright and glanced at Horatio, who was doing the same.

"You okay?"

Horatio nodded and looked up as Lynda appeared. "We're approaching Miami. Landing in about ten minutes."

Eric found himself surreptitiously watching his boss. Horatio looked nervous and tight-lipped. Of course… landing probably would be worst for him… Eric tried to think of something reassuring to say, but couldn't. The seat-belt sign came on and they put the seats upright. Eric leant over to help Horatio buckle the belt, then sat back and buckled his own.

He looked at his boss. "Nearly there…"

Horatio did not reply, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the arm rests. The lights of Miami appeared below them as the aircraft banked and turned. The engine note lowered. Eric was struck, as he always was, by the impression of the plane standing still. Horatio was staring straight ahead.

It was a perfect landing. The big plane seemed to touch down as lightly as a butterfly. As it slowed to taxiing speed, Horatio let out a long sigh.

He looked at Eric with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Sorry, I think I was holding my breath."

"Not surprised. You tired?"

"Yeah…"

"I expect the luscious Lynda will get us out quickly. You're home, boss."

THE END

_**Again, my apologies to Virgin America and Airbus Industries, both of which have impeccable safety records.**_


End file.
